


Shedding

by Lady_Lola



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, little hurt, much comfort I hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lola/pseuds/Lady_Lola
Summary: He frowned, though, when he saw some handfuls of feathers on the ground. That was new. He had just gone through his "shedding period", and he expected all his new feathers to be securely attached to his wings.





	Shedding

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers!   
> As you can see, this is my first, and probably will me my only, fic on AO3. I used to write short stories on Ff.net, but the last one of them dates back to 2011. Since then, I've only written a small Thorki snipped in 2013 that was sent as a private gift to a person on Tumblr, and nothing more. I've read tons of stories though, and I hope other people's ability in writing rubbed off on me and helped me creat something better than what I used to post.  
> I'd like to htank the lovely Mazarin221b, who incouraged me to write this fic. I hope you'll like it.   
> Feel free to criticise, but bear in mind that I'm not a native English speaker and my style could be heavily influenced by Italian grammar and structures.

The first time it happened was when he came home from the Ritz.

Aziraphel and him had just stopped the Apocalypse, inspired Adam into stopping his no-more-father-now Satan, returned the boys to their homes safe and sound, and left Anathema and Newton to their own business (they both had lots to figure out, with Anathema living for the first time without Agnes dictating her entire life, and Newton trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together - poor boy).

On a more personal level, Crowley had also just faced a trial. Two trials, to be more precise.  
While his body had happily splashed around in a bathtub full of harmless Holy Water, his -how should we call it? - Soul? Spirit? Ephemeral Being? had inhabited Aziraphel's vessel, and faced the heavenly punishment of going through hellfire.  
None of the punishments had done him a damn thing, but still, the tension hadn't been something so easy to bear.  
That's why the first thing he did, when he came home from the lovely afternoon tea with his friend, was giving himself a very thorough check up.  
He obviously knew that Hellfire hadn't done anything to his inner self, let's say, but his body was a whole different matter; maybe Holy Water had still caused some minor damages, and Crowley couldn't stand the thought of being anything less than perfect on the outside.

So there he was, standing fully naked in front of the enormous wall mirror in his ensuite marble bathroom. (Many of you will think, "Why does he have a bedroom and a bathroom? It's not like he needs to sleep or wash himself!". That's true, but that doesn't mean he didn't love feeling the silk sheets on his skin, or the slightly cool water cascading on his head and body the days when London was stifling hot).  
He was standing in front of his mirror, naked, his golden eyes scanning every inch of his skin.  
Everything looked in order, no marks, scorches or other unfortunate reminders of what he had gone through.

He then went on, and opened his wings wide.  
There they were, as usual, jet black, scarred and slightly bent.  
Angels could not fall and join the other side, and hope to rise back with their wings intact. The vast majority of them had lost their wings altogether in the Fall, so he counted himself lucky he still had his, despite battered and imperfect.  
He frowned, though, when he saw some handfuls of feathers on the ground. That was new. He had just gone through his "shedding period", and he expected all his new feathers to be securely attached to his wings.  
"Damn Holy Water", he sighed, "I guess our plan wasn't exactly as safe as we thought".

He hid his wings then, dressed up in a new, stylish, black Valentino suit, and went retrieving the precious Chateaux Lafite bottle he had promised he would have bought to Aziraphale's shop to continue their celebrations.  
Now that they were free, Crowley was actually delighted in watching Aziraphale enjoy his food and wine without the lingering guilt he always felt for being such a glutton.  
Nothing meant more, for Crowley, than his friend's happiness.  
_________________________________  
In the following weeks, Crowley and Aziraphale began spending considerably more and more time together, to the point that Crowley was spending his entire days lounging in Aziraphale's shop reading, chatting and not quite helping the angel in his job, and then, after closing the shop, they both went to out for dinner and then back at Crowley's, for more glasses of whatever their poison was that night.

The demon kept a vigil eye on his wings, a bit worried of the fact that every day more of his black feathers were falling from him, a not-so-subtle now mat of soft plumes covering the pavement around his bed when he woke up in the morning.  
Crowley could also see the change that was happening in Aziraphale; he was more open, more happy, more at peace with himself; at the same time, he noticed that Aziraphale was looking at him in a weird way: a mixture of worry, sadness and uncertainty colouring his eyes.

Crowley worried that maybe it was all a bit too much for the angel: this proximity with a demon, despite the said demon being his oldest friend, surely was getting to him.  
There was also another matter that scared him: he knew that spending so much time with his friend was a dangerous game for him to play; he was starting to wear his black, tattered, rebellious heart on his sleeve, and it wouldn't take long before Aziraphale figured out the feelings Crowley was hiding from him.  
Crowley, demon of Hell, was abso- _fucking_ -lutely in love with Aziraphale, angel of Heaven and guardian of the eastern gate. He had been since their encounter on the walls of Eden, when Aziraphale had committed his first little rebellion and donated his flaming sword to the scared, newly cast Adam and Eve.  
He knew that this little piece of information would have lead Aziraphale far from him, it would have meant the end of their friendship, but still he couldn't give up the days spent together.

It was during one of their nights of drinks and chats together, that Aziraphale finally addressed the issue.

"Crowley, dear..." he started, babbling slightly.  
"Yessssss Aziraphale?" Crowley replied.  
"How are you feeling?" Aziraphale continued, a bit perturbed but also sure in his speech.  
"Great, fantastic, never been better!" Crowley yelled, trying to hide his raising sense of insecurity with his boisterous temperament.  
"Are you sure, my fella?"  
"Would I lie to you?"  
"Well, after the almost Apocalypse, I wouldn't think so, but I know you're lying to me now" Aziraphale confessed.  
"Why would you sssay that?" Crowley shouted, feigning outrage.  
"Because half of your feathers are on the ground! Your wings have holes in them!" Aziraphale shouted back.  
"WHAT?? Wha- No- How can you possssibly sssssssee them?"

Crowley was about to have a heart attack: for celestial beings (or former celestial beings, as he was), seeing someone else's wings or auras was something HUGE. It meant that there was a profound bond between them, a bond not very dissimilar from human marriage.

"Oh Crowley, do keep up! I've always seen them! I've always seen the whole of you!"  
Aziraphale looked so distressed, so desperate, Crowley was more taken aback from that than from his confession: he had never seen his friend -well, the person who was madly in love with- so not prim and proper. An enormous quantity of feathers was now falling freely from his wings, which had somehow manifested without him even noticing it.  
"Six thousand years, Crowley, six thousand years! All this time I've hidden my feelings for you, because I thought you could never love me, plain old boring Aziraphale!  
The idiot angel that gave his sword away! The soft one, the only angel in Heaven who doesn't have a fighting bone in his entire body! Why would someone be interested in me?"  
Aziraphale was actually crying then, standing on his toes.  
"Why would YOU? My only friend, the tempting snake, the only demon who managed to keep his wings in the fall! And now something's happening to them, and you won't even tell me what it is!" 

Aziraphel turned his back to Crowley, too ashamed of his words and his whole demeanor; there was nothing that he wanted more than being swallowed by the ground, to never be seen again.  
He put his head in his hands, and sobbed.

Crowley, for his part, was glued to his spot, with his mouth hanging open.  
His wings were almost completely naked, and he would have felt very self-conscious about that, if only his mind had been able to process something other than "AZIRAPHALE JUST TOLD ME HE LOVES ME!".  
Before he even realised he was moving, he put his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, turned him by sheer strength, and wrapped his long arms around the lovely body of his best friend.

"I'm so sorry, Angel, I'm so fucking sorry! I should have told you earlier, I should have been as brave as you are!", Crowley whispered in Aziraphale's neck.

The angel kept still for a moment, then surrendered to the emotions and hugged the demon back; in doing so, he bumped into Crowley's wings, and made the last, tenacious feathers fall on the pavement in a sad dance.

"Oh Crowley I'm so sorry for your wings!" he murmured, but then recovered and added with false cheerfulness; "But don't worry, my dear, I'm sure we'll find something on my books that will solve your problem!".  
He then tried to wiggle free from the embrace, but Crowley didn't budge.

"Aziraphale, stop. I don't give a damn about my wings. I lost them many millennia ago, I just don't know why they're shedding now. They’re not important."

Yes, he was lying and he knew that: he loved his wings, but in that moment, they were the least important thing to him.  
"I was not talking about my wings, before, when I told you I should have talked to you sooner. I was talking about... me. About what I feel for you."

Aziraphale went completely still, his arms still around Crowley's back. He didn't even dared to breathe (it's not like he actually had to breathe, he could very well do without).

Crowley's soft voice came back.  
"I... love you. I've always had. Since the time you gave away your sword. It was such a nice gesture towards those two poor souls, and yet so rebellious towards Heaven. I didn't know you had it in you, and I was flabbergasted. I admit I quite fell head over heels for you."

Crowley felt Aziraphale move against him, like a soft tremble, the movement of his friend laughing quietly.

"But now, I fear I might actually die soon... I mean, my wings have just lost all the feathers, and I don't think it's a good sign..." he added somberly.

"If you think I'm going to let you die when you've just told me you love me, you my love are sorely mistaken" Aziraphale exclaimed, and freed himself from Crowley's embrace.  
"As I told you, I'm sure the solution is in one of my books!" 

"Wait a second, Angel! Could we, I mean, shouldn't we... Aren't we supposed to kiss now? I mean, we just confessed our undying love to each other, I suppose celebrations are in order" Crowley suggested.  
"Well, if you put it like that..." Aziraphale smiled, then took a step closer to Crowley and put his right hand on the demon's cheek.

Crowley felt a shiver going down his back, and closed his eyes. He could feel Aziraphale watching him, staring at him, then he felt the angel exhale softly and move closer.  
When their lips touched, he could have sworn he heard bells ringing in his head.  
Aziraphale's lips were delicate, warm, utterly delightful; all Crowley was able to do was to let himself go completely.  
He started kissing the angel back, tentatively at first, but soon their passion got hold of them both and the kisses became more heated, more urgent.

Aziraphale was making the most delicious sounds ever in the back of his throat, and the hand that earlier was caressing Crowley's face softly, was now spread possessively on his back.  
In fact, both his hands were. That's how he felt it.  
A flash of love so pure, so strong, coming from above them and flowing freely through Crowley's body, from the top of his flaming red hair, to the heels of his expensive Italian shoes, and then back again up his back, throughout the scarred remains of his bare wings.

Crowley suddenly felt pervaded by some sort of outworldly warmth, as if his entire being was basking in the glowing sun on Honokalani Beach at dawn.  
Despite the centuries spent daydreaming about it, Crowley had to admit that not even in his most inspired fantasies he had thought that kissing Aziraphale would have been so wonderful.  
So lost in the kiss, he never quite actually registered what was happening in him.

At least until the heat became almost unbearable.

With a sort of disappointed grunt, he detached from Aziraphale, and was surprised in seeing his love so amazed, so completely elated.  
He got even more surprised when the angel let out a sound that was part laughter and part sob, and started tearing up again.

“What’s going on, Angel? My skills can be a bit on the rusty side, and sure as Hell they can’t really compare to yours, but I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve being laughed at…” Crowley joked, although Aziraphale sensed he was trying to deflect his attention from the shreds of insecurity permeating his words.

“Oh, you silver tongued devil, stop it!” Aziraphale scoffed, lightly patting Crowley on the chest.  
“It’s just… Look at your wings!” he exclaimed.  
“Yeah, I know, they must be awful now” Crowley replied with a grimace.  
He still hadn’t had the courage to look at himself in a mirror, or –God, Satan, Whoever forbid!- try to touch his former wings.  
The sole thought of it made him quite sick and terribly sad, to be honest.  
“No”, yelled Aziraphale, “look at them! I’ve never seen them more beautiful! They’re so… so…  
Heavens, so like you!”. 

He took Crowley by the torso, and pushed him right in front of a mirror.  
When Crowley finally turned to take a glance, his head was hanging low in defeat, but suddenly snapped upwards when he saw what the mirror was showing him.

His wings.  
Not the bare bones he expected to see after shedding all his feathers.  
Not the black, bent, broken wings he’d had for millennia after the Fall.  
Not quite even the white, fluffy, majestic wings all angels of Heaven had though.  
They were unique, a bit on the small side of the scale, but full of new feathers and plumes. What made them so peculiar, and totally suited for him, was the fact that every feather had both black and white beards on it, alternating regularly and creating a majestic pattern.

“How is it even possssible?” he murmured.  
Aziraphale knew he was talking to himself, but couldn’t help himself when he hugged Crowley from behind and replied “I told you so before the Almost Apocalypse. Good will always find a way to win over Evil, and in this case, perhaps Someone above us thought you deserved a little forgiveness after saving the world”.  
“What about you? You saved the world, too. Don’t you too deserve a prize then?” Crowley asked, still unable to take his –still golden and demonic- eyes from his new wings.  
“Well, my love, I’m pretty sure I have my prize here in my arms right now” Aziraphale exhaled softly, tightening his arms around Crowley and placing a soft kiss between those wonderful wings.


End file.
